Fire. Yes, my thighs feel on fire. For the past ten minutes, I and about ten other examinees have been holding a horse stance. Toes forward, back straight, feet spread past shoulder’s width apart, fist pull back so that our pinkies touch our side, and legs bent until they are nearly parallel with the floor. We are about 45 minutes into our black belt exam. Ten minutes prior we struggled through one hundred push-ups as the conclusion to a series of physical fitness qualifications collectively known as pre-quals (with requirements like 50 push-ups in two minutes). Now we are in the exam proper. 

“One![Kiyah!]Two![Kiyah]Three![Kiyah!]Four![Kiyah!]”

My instructor’s counting sounds far away, as do our aiyahs as we punch in response. This portion of the exam focuses on basics. Our current drill is performing whatever hand strike out of karate’s varied and extensive collection our instructor tells us to do while in a horse stance. A simple but brutal test. My gaze is fixed straight ahead, locked in an intense staring contest with my reflection in the floor to ceiling mirror lining one wall of the dojo as I watch my black martial arts gi clad form execute these moves. I breathe in deeply, trying to empty my mind, and the scent of Clorox disinfectant wipes fills my nostrils. I don’t dare to adjust my aching ankles even an inch for fear of losing focus. Sweat begins to stream down my face and body, pooling around my feet on the black and red dojo mat. Despite my best efforts, the fire in my thighs begins to spread throughout my body and its crescendoing protests to this prolonged strain threaten to overwhelm me. Will I make it? The thought steals across my conscious, slipping past my waning concentration. I have no response. 

For introverts such as myself, this is what our heart sometimes feels like when we find ourselves trapped in conversation.

My hesitancy towards social interaction is not uncommon. We introverts exist as a silent, socially awkward legion, populating the periphery of every social gathering, perpetually stuck between yearning to jump in and desperately scrambling to do anything but that. One of my biggest regrets from high school is that despite meeting and knowing many exceptional people, it took me until my senior year to start coming out of my shell and begin figuring out who I am. Therefore, I, like many of my fellow legionnaires, endeavored to use the fresh start college provides to reinvent myself, to socialize more and not let the invaluable opportunity to forge lasting friendships pass me by again.

But man, is it hard sometimes. While, credit where credit is due, I have definitely improved, I am victim to the same problem plaguing many of my bravado-less brethren. Taking the initiative to start a conversation or continue one, especially with someone I don’t know, feels like waging an uphill battle with myself. The desire to “say the right thing” paralyzes me, and I dread the agonizing sound of awkward silence between spurts of conversation. Occasionally, as if my brain sent the signal to speak before my mouth was ready, my lips part only to let out rushed gibberish that not even I, the speaker, understand. Thus, like matter in an unstable phase, I find myself needing to expend emotional energy to stay in a social state. A horse stance for my heart.

Did I need to struggle like this? Was it worth it? Was it right?  Not everyone needs to become a black belt. In fact, the vast majority of people do just fine without one. We are all different. Maybe this just isn’t meant to be. Maybe being shy and timid is just a part of who I am. In fact, you’re smart Dante. You’re kind. Heck, occasionally you’re even funny. Why don’t we cut ourselves some slack just this one time and take it easy for a little while. Why don’t we punch a little slower, a little weaker, hold our stance a little higher than we’re supposed to? Why don’t we pretend like we don’t see that person from class coming this way and save ourselves some awkward eye contact and even more awkward “I-don’t-know-what-to-say” small talk. It’s not like you mean anything by it; you just feel fatigued, drained. They won’t notice. 

These are the kinds of thoughts that go through my, and, as I’ve come to realize, many others’, head when life exhausts us to our limits, and yet compel us to continue fighting with still more obligations placed in our way that. And maybe they are right, others won’t notice, but, frustrating as it is to admit it, we will. Our futures will. Unfortunately for wallflowers like me, the ability to communicate, while certainly not dished out in equal quantities, is undeniably a critical life skill. It is part of the exam. You need it for every profession, for every situation, for everyday life.

“I am inevitable,” declares social interaction to those shy enough to try and avoid it. In one golden-gauntleted hand, it holds the keys to reality. There is no escape.

Additionally, as with every other skill, the only way to get better at communicating is to do it. Practice. And it is important practice at that because, as the many charismatic leaders of history may attest, being able to effectively and persuasively present good ideas to other people is just as, or in some cases even more so, important as actually having them. Like the imparted teachings of the martial arts masters of old, a wise, anonymous YouTube comment once said: “The only difference between being dumb and not having any ideas at all and being smart but not sharing them is better internal dialogue.”

We need to be able to communicate. It is how we make what matters to us matter to others. It is how we make our ideas count. So continuing to try is crucial. Yes, we will awkwardly slip up, mix our words, or push ourselves out of our comfort zones only to be rejected. Taking hits is unavoidable as is occasionally tripping over our own sloppy footwork, but all of these are irreplaceable experiences on the mat that allow us to improve. These experiences, both good and bad, color in our lives by revealing what does and does not work for us. They provide the information needed for us to do better next time and, whether we like it or not, there is only one way to get them.

At this point my legs have started to shake uncontrollably. Now over a half a dozen rounds of hand strikes into this stance, the instructor still shows no sign of being unable to find different ones to command us to do next. No reprieve appears to be in sight. My focus dwindles even more and I begin to question whether I should have come to this exam at all. But at this moment, I dig in. Wincing and gritting my teeth, I sink lower into my stance, causing the now divots of sweat around my feet to squish like a wet sponge. Focusing on the pressure of my clenched jaw, I tighten my thigh muscles to brace my lower body while simultaneously relaxing my upper body. My next punches rip through the air with sudden explosive force. I’m going to give it my all!, asserts my face, contorted in pain and determination. The next 5 hours are filled with more pain and exhaustion. By the end, my legs have cramped four times each and I could literally wring the sweat out of my gi. However, despite all of that, despite not knowing if we even passed, as we bow out, signaling the end of the exam, a smile is plastered on my, and every other examinee’s, face. We left everything on the mat, we learned what we were made of, and that is all that mattered.

This is the determination we must bring to honing our social skills. The determination to be the best version of ourselves and the courage to not let the fear of messing up prevent us from expressing that person, whoever we may find them to be.